


The Diminutive Rule

by TempusNoKitsune



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, COME ON BOYS, Crushes, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 21:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempusNoKitsune/pseuds/TempusNoKitsune
Summary: "No. It is a diminutive, which are often no longer used after childhood in Russia... Besides, have you ever heard him let anyone else call him that?"(A.K.A. The Boys Are Stupid Except This Time In Modern High School)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdytardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytardis/gifts).



> I really liked the idea of writing a fluffy high-school piece for these two, so I hope that you like the outcome!  
> (I always seem to get a bit carried away, and if I hadn't been so busy I'm sure that it would have been even longer...)

It’s 6 am and Napoleon really wishes that he was asleep. But, of course, the time for that is over, left in a hazy rush of heat filled lazy days. He can’t be terribly upset with it all, even though he grumbles tiredly all the way through breakfast, and nearly crashes the car on the way to school. Only nearly though, he may be tired but he’s got great reflexes. Either way, making it to school this morning means he gets to see some of the people that mean the most to him after their summers apart, and for the first time he smiles, rather than grimaces, at the sight of Gabby’s old muscle car parked in its usual place.

Napoleon pulls down the small car shade above his seat to quickly check himself out in the mirror. His hair is behaving nicely so far, staying pressed down and slicked back after a handful of aromatic pomade which negated the use of cologne. He flattens the collar of his light blue button down, which is unbuttoned just a bit under his collarbone, and readjusts his navy scarf. He’s gone with a nice knee length navy jacket and simple denim form fitting pants, complete with the navy toms that Gaby had gotten him last Christmas. Illya had called them slippers, and Napoleon had worn them for a month straight just to spite him. 

For some reason thinking of that makes Napoleons stomach flutter uncomfortably, the image of his Russian friend’s icy blue eyes flashing up in his memory. He shakes the feeling off without much thought and tugs his bag out of the passenger seat, exiting the car with a flourish. He’s not quite late, but he’s not as early as most others. Though many would think he’s the type to enter fashionably late, he’s usually more the type to get there so early that he’s able to stake out everything before hand, especially at a party.

As a senior he’d had first pick of classes, not that that’s terribly interesting in high school, but at least he was able to bend and twist himself a schedule with two art classes thanks to an online class that he barely passed the summer before. He’s not a bad student, not precisely anyway, it’s just terribly hard to focus when the summer sun is taunting you from the window. 

He strides confidently down the hallway, jacket fluttering behind him as he makes his way through the crowd of kids to his AP art history class. He’s well aware of the looks he gets, especially since he painted over his nails with a matching blue coat just last night. Some of the stares are admiring, others lustful, and some distasteful, but he just smiles and continues on his way. If there’s one thing to be said, Napoleon is lacking no self esteem, which makes it easy to stride into the nearly empty classroom and take a seat at the very front. 

He’s one of only 6 students that have qualified to take the class, and he’s almost positive that he’s the only one that really wants to be there.

“Welcome to class, Mr.Solo.” The teacher, Mrs.Madsen, greets. He’s had her for the past two years now and she’s become awfully fond of him considering the fact that he’s one of the only ones to take her class seriously. However, this also means that she generally lets him do whatever he wants when she’s not up front lecturing, which he’s certainly not complaining about.

There’s not much to do the first day of school work-wise. The teachers would be hard pressed to fit any actual teaching in after the introductions of themselves, the students, and then the class as a whole. It’s almost always like this, and Napoleon thinks that he really ought to have planned for that more since he spends most of his classes in a jittery boredom, wanting nothing more than to get to lunch time and see his friends.

“I can feel your pent up energy from here.”

Napoleon prides himself on not startling at all as the voice comes from over his left shoulder. He’s teetering on the edge of a stool waiting for Physics to begin, and was almost positive that he wouldn’t be in any classes with friends, and yet Alex is standing just behind him, one eyebrow raised.

He lets his mouth quirk up at the corner and motions to the empty seat next to him.

“Can you blame me, Waverly? Every class is the same today. I could just have read all of the syllabi at home.”

Alex shakes his head but still moves over to the seat. Though Alex, or Alexander, is his first name, and is often how he’s known to many of the teachers and other kids at the school, an event a few summers ago- during Napoleon and Gabby’s joint “spy phase” -landed him as their friend group’s “guy in the chair”, resulting in the reoccurring use of his last name to the point where it edged out the use of his first name. 

“I don’t think that’s the point, Napoleon.”

He shrugs in response and leans heavily on the table, grateful that labs haven’t started, lest he ruin his nice jacket.

The teacher enters the room almost five minutes late, and though he smiles brightly, there’s something about the way that he begins talking that gives away the fact that he’d much rather not be there. Not that Napoleon really blames the poor guy.

“How was your summer?” He asks lowly.

Alex hums and taps his fingers on the table. 

Napoleon leans over and bumps their shoulders together, smirking wryly.

“Did meeting the girlfriend’s family go well?”

Alex tries to pay attention to the teacher’s mindless reciting of the syllabus slowly making its way through the classroom, but after the second section, during which the majority of the class have begun to speak amongst themselves, he seems to give up.

“More or less.” Alex tilts his head back slightly, a small smile tilting up the corner of his mouth. “I did my best to make a good impression, and I certainly got along with her parents. Adults are far easier to get on with than kids.” He lets out a small sigh. “But most of them hardly speak a word of English, and I can’t very well just tote Gabriella around as a translator all the time, can I?”

Napoleon snorted at the thought of ever proper and charming Waverly floundering among a group of  unforgiving German children.

Alex shot him a look. “Not everyone can pick up languages like you can.”

Napoleon grins brightly at him, all teeth and with his eyes squeezed shut. He drops the fake smile quickly and moves to sit his elbow on the table, and set his chin on the palm of his hand.

“I’m both glad and horrified that this is our last year here.”

“I agree. On the one hand we do get to leave, on the other…”

“We leave each other.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The lunchroom is almost deafeningly loud. It’s like the architects that designed the school didn’t take into account the acoustics. However, Napoleon can’t really be bothered by the inane chatter when his eyes land on Gabby. The petite brunette comes running his way and he opens his arms, lifting her up and spinning her around when they collide.

“Oh, I missed you, darling.”

Gabby laughed into his neck and squeezed him once more before pulling away. “I missed you too, my love.”

Alex cleared his throat, one eyebrow raised as Gabby leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t get too jealous now, Waverly.” He teases.

Gabby nods. “Besides, Napoleon’s got his eyes on someone else anyway.”

“That’s right I- wait…” He narrows his eyes slightly. He hasn’t had a crush, or anything reasonably close since...well probably since middle school despite the two girlfriend’s that he’s had since the beginning of high school. “I don’t-”

Of course it’s just at the time that he’d begun to refute that claim that a large hand lands on his shoulder. 

Napoleon whips his head around and his face pulls up into an automatic smile even as he blanches at the fact that he as to tilt his head to look into Illya’s eyes. At the beginning of the summer they had been the same height, but the Russian boy had filled out even more over the past few months. He now had a good 5 or 6 inches on him, and Napoleon has to blink a few times before his brain restarts and his smile turns genuine.

“Illyushen’ka! Where’d you get all that muscle from?”

Illya’s cheeks pink, and his cool eyes burn into Napoleon. Now Napoleon hasn’t blushed himself for years, but for some reason standing there mere inches from Illya’s person with their heads inclined towards each other the odd feeling in his stomach from that morning comes back, and his skin begins to feel hot.

He reaches out and hits Illya’s shoulder before taking a hasty step back. Alex and Gabby are huddled together slightly off to his right, and Gaby’s eyebrows have all but disappeared underneath her fringe- though he’d wager that was due to the use of the diminutive more than anything else, but he liked to tease Illya and it was cute, so sue him.

“It’s good to see you.” He says, squaring back his shoulders and pulling back on his easy air of confidence.

Illya just looks over him for a moment before his eyes take on a fond shine. “Is good to see you too, Cowboy.”

Napoleon scrunches up his nose at the nickname, but smiles none-the-less before heading on to lead their little group to their usual table. It’s dark blue, round, and sits neatly in the corner of the room furthest away from the hot lunch line. It provided at least some semblance of privacy, and tended to be a bit quieter. They take turns getting food and keeping their place at the table, with Napoleon and Gabby pressed shoulder to shoulder, and Illya and Alex sitting across from them. They sink back into their friendship with so much ease that it’s almost as if they’ve not even been apart at all.

It’s like that for the next few months, at least until the school announces that, despite the fact that it’s primarily an international school, it is in the United States and that, though they’ve never done it before, they’d like to have a homecoming dance. Of course, this shouldn’t change anything at all. It’s just a dance, and they’ve had plenty of those before without a hitch. Gabby and Alex will obviously go together with fabulously matching outfits for whatever the them is. Usually Napoleon will get a date with one of the many, very pretty girls in the school, treating them to dinner first, and then paying for the Uber back to her house after the party when they’re both wonderfully drunk and content, probably getting in a quick makeout session before she makes her way out of the car and into her house. However, at the first mention of the dance some sort of thick tension strings tight between Illya and him. And for the first time in years Napoleon doesn’t know what to do. 


	3. Chapter 3

Gabby corners him one day after school, trapping him in between the triangle of his open car door and her body.

“What did you do?”

Napoleon automatically throws his hands up.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. What did you do to Illya?”

He huffs and let his arms fall down to his sides.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve done anything.” He answers, and his genuinity must shine through because Gaby take a few moments to simply process what he’s said before speaking again. 

“So, you haven’t said anything or done anything that you know of?”

“No.”

There’s another moment of silence.

“When did you stop talking normally?”

He lets his head tilt back against the car. “I’m not sure. Maybe a week, week and a half ago?”

“Okay, what was going on then?” Gabby asked generally, looking up to the sky for answers.

“I bombed the English exam he helped me prep for.”

“No, he’s used to that.”

“It had to do with one of his favourite poems.”

“Yes, well. He probably expected it even more so then. You were there during sophomore year, yeah?”

He winced minutely. “I’d rather forget about that, actually.”

Gabby smirked at him, though the expression didn’t last long. “No we need something more impactful. Something more, uncomfortable.”

He shakes his head, lifting up a hand and only stopping just short of ruining his pristinely quaffed hair.

“I honestly can’t think of anything. It’s just been...oppressively normal.” 

Napoleon lets out a small huff of air, and is getting ready to just push Gabby back so he can slide in his car and drive home, when she looks him dead in the eyes and says, “The dance.”

He blinks a few times. “What about it?”

“Well, you always have some girl hanging off of you, right?”

He narrows his eyes. “What does that have to do with Illya?”

Gabby looks at him dumbly before her eyes roll upwards. “Are you serious?”

“I’m seriously lost.”

“I thought that you boys were smarter than this, but obviously I had my expectations set too high.”

“Still not following.”

She heaves a sigh and drops her hands heavily on his shoulders, causing his eyebrows to make their way up to his hairline.

“Napoleon, listen to me very carefully. Read my lips if you have to.” She pauses, and after a beat he nods as an affirmative for her to continue. “Illya. Likes. You. And. You. Like. Him. He’s avoiding you because he’s expecting you to pick up some girl for he dance, and he’s jealous.”

Napoleon manages to hold it together for all of five seconds before bursting out laughing. That peters out when Gabby’s fingers begin to create talon grip on his shoulders, making him hunch in slightly as though the movement will alleviate some of the pain.

“Ow. Ow. Ow! Okay. Ow.” He says as a call of uncle, letting out a quite breath when Gabby loosens her grip. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely,” she answers without a beat. “Lord, you’ve been pinning without knowing it since sophomore year, I was wondering when one of you would notice, though I honestly didn’t think that Illya would be the first to come to terms with his feelings.”

Something flutters in his chest and stomach, and then there’s this strange tightening sensation and he can feel heat rushing to his cheeks, the tops of his ears. It wouldn’t show much, because Napoleon did not blush. He did not.

“Gaby if this is a prank, it’s not funny. I don’t know what I did to Illya, but I don’t think that I deserve this.”

The petite German gives him a couple of solid shakes, making angry noise that he might describe as growling.

“If I have to tell you one more time I am going to actually slam your head in this door.”

“Please don’t.”

“Look, Napoleon. I wouldn’t joke about this, but even if I did anyone would be able to point out that you like each other. You call him Illyushen’ka for God’s sake! Do you even know what that means?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “It’s a diminutive, a Russian nickname.”

“No. It is a diminutive, which are often no longer used after childhood in Russia, but are also used by family and  _ lovers. _ And that one in particular is very intimate. Besides, have you ever heard him let anyone else call him that?”

He opens his mouth again, but all that comes out is an embarrassing high pitched noise that makes his mouth snap closed.

“Right.”  She gives his shoulders another tight squeeze before pulling away and taking a step back. “Just talk to him, and don’t make me take more drastic measures, because you know I will.”

Gaby turned on her heels and walked away before he had a chance to respond, and he sat heavily in the driver's seat, digesting everything as he sat stared at the shining asphalt.


	4. Chapter 4

Normally on a weekend Napoleon would work on his art pieces, get together with his friends, and generally get out of the house as much a possible. That being said, he’s currently on his bed staring up at the ceiling and generally feeling completely and utterly helpless.

“Leo? Are you in there?”

He lets his eyes slip closed and breathed out a heavy sigh.

“Yes, Mama.”

His mother pushes his door open. Delphine Solo is a fairly tall woman with olive coloured skin, russet hair, and brilliant emerald green eyes. Napoleon couldn’t look any less like her if he tried. She told him that he was like a carbon copy of his father, which, although he knew it wasn’t meant to be an insult he couldn’t help but take it as one. After all, who wants to be compared to the parent that left the family without so much as a second look?

She came and sat down on the end of his bed, letting her hand rest on one of his ankles. “What’s wrong, vita mia?”

Napoleon has always told his mother everything. They’re incredibly close and always have been. His mother has done everything for him, and has been supportive of everything that he does and is no matter if she completely understands it or not. Besides, he’s not been making any headway with this on his own…

“How do you tell if you’ve fallen for someone?”

Elegant eyebrows arch upwards.

“Well…” His mother shifts a bit, and looks up at the ceiling for a moment before squeezing his ankle. “You think about them often. You always want them around. You think of them when things happen, and what they would think about those things. They mean a lot to you, and when you’re apart from them you just want them to be with you.”

He gives his head a little shake before shifting back to sit up with his back against the headboard.

“What do you do if you’ve maybe found out that you feel that way for one of your friends?”

“Oh.” A smile stretches over his mother's face. “Cucciolo, is this about Illya?”

He freezes for a moment before deflating.

“Does everyone but me know this?”

She lets out a little laugh and moves up to sit shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Napoleon, you talk about him all the time. He makes you very happy.” She bumps their shoulders together. “There’s nothing wrong it.”

He hits his head back against the headboard a couple of times before leaning it over on her shoulder.

“Gabby says that he likes me back, and wants me to talk to him.”

“You should.”

“Mama.”

“Leo.”

He lets out a sigh, and she kisses his temple.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The air is heavy in the sort of way that lets you know that it’s going to rain soon, and makes it a bit harder to breathe. Napoleon is dressed to impress, with a lavender sweater, navy pea-coat and pressed navy pants with black oxfords. He cringed a bit at himself after trying on five other outfits that morning before settling on what he was currently wearing. It’s as though this whole situation has completely broken all of his cool and suave.

He makes it though most of his classes in a haze, and eats lunch in the art room with one hand covered in paint and the other holding a sub-par sandwich. Gaby catches his eyes once in-between classes and he just shoots her a brilliant smile before quickly skirting away. He just narrowly avoids bumping into Illya before he’s ready, and it leave his hands shaking and his knees jumping in anticipation. When the final bell rings he nearly rockets out of his seat and takes out his station by the front doors.

When Illya steps out of the door Napoleon snags his wrists in a crushing grip and begins pulling the Russian to his car. Of course, Illya doesn’t take very well to being grabbed and begins to fight back, twisting Napoleon’s arm at an awkward angle.

“Ow! Shit, Illya it’s me!” He calls, not stopping his mission despite the waves of pain and discomfort radiating up his arm to his shoulder and back down to where Illya’s large hand was cutting off his circulation. 

“Napoleon?” His name is laced with a heavier Russian accent than Illya usually has, and the pressure and twisting abates somewhat. 

Somehow Napoleon is able to coerce him into the passenger seat of his car and get out of the school's parking lot, putting his plan into phase two.

“We are going somewhere?” Illya asks, and Napoleon knows that cool blue eyes are turned on him in an inquiry, but he just hums an affirmative and drives on until he makes it to stage three.

He parks the car in the gravel patch just at the end of a small path that disappears in dunes and bushes. It’s their place, the place that their little friend group escaped to when things became too much. Without saying a word he gets out of the car, even though he can hear Illya trying to speak to him, and starts down the path. He knows that he’ll be followed.

“Napoleon!” Illya shouts, grabbing his wrist just as the trail opens onto the small beach. 

Napoleon spins around, looks at Illya’s face, and quickly looks away.

“What is wrong?” Illya’s hand tightens for a moment before loosening back up, as though trying to give a reassuring squeeze but just missing the mark. “Why are we here?”

Napoleon has planned every word, every movement. He’s going to be charming, romantic, smooth and casual as he usually is. Of course, when faced with someone who he’s become so invested in his brain disconnects from his mouth and-

“I like you!”

It makes decisions of his own accord.

Everything seems to slow down as his eyes widen. He curses under his breath and tries to pull himself together, squaring his shoulders as though preparing for war.

“ _ Izvineeti _ ?” There’s a short pause. “Excuse me?”

He sort of wants to just tell Illya to forget it, that it’s nothing and he’ll just drive him home, but Napoleon is many things and a coward is not one of them. So, he takes his strong stance and turns, firmly planting his feet.

“You heard me. I’d rather not say it again and embarrass myself further, but I thought that you should know.”

The Russian looks him right in the eyes, narrowing his own as though searching for something.

“You are stupid.”

Napoleon blinks.

“What?”

Illya lets out an irritated breath, but instead of answering he uses his free hand to grasp the front of Napoleon’s sweater and pull him forward. For a moment they simply stand mere centimeters apart, their breaths mingling before Napoleon just can’t take it anymore and closes the gap.

Illya makes a low noise and kisses back, letting go of Napoleon’s wrist in order to curl a hand around his waist. The kiss doesn’t last for nearly as long as Napoleon wished that it would, and he tries to follow Illya’s lips only to be held firmly in place.

“I like you as well.”

“Think I got that.”

Illya rolls his eyes, but there’s something like a smile making the corner of his mouth switch.

“You know,” Napoleon continues, leaning backward slightly. “You ruined my big plan.”

“Yes?” The Russian responds flatly.

“Yeah, you’ll have to repay me for that.”

Napoleon makes a show of pretending to really think about what Illya should do for him, even though he’s imagined an outcome something like this enough times since coming up with this plan that he knows exactly what American, cliched thing that he wants to do.

“I think...that you’ll just have to go to homecoming with me.”

Napoleon’s not quite prepared for the look of complete surprise that takes over Illya’s face, but the slight blush that comes with it is so adorable that he just kind of runs with it.

“What?” He starts. “Would you have rather I just went ahead and say you ought to become my boyfriend, because that’s still an option.”

Illya’s mouth opens and closes, and Napoleon revels in the fact that he’s been able to reduce Illya to the state that the other boy had been unknowingly reducing him to for the last couple of days. After a couple of minutes he can’t take the cuteness, but makes the excuse in his own head that he’s just taking mercy on Illya, and leans forward to connect their lips once more.

“So, homecoming?”

“You are an idiot.”

“Is that a yes?”

“... _ Da. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you liked it nerdytardis, and that it fits what you were looking for!
> 
> (...If there's enough interest I might put in an epilogue chapter...)


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